In the Face of Evil
by Aradatm
Summary: Alternate takes on the Foyet episodes: They all knew that Foyet was evil and that he needed to be stopped at all cost. But when evil turns and corrupts their strong-willed leader, can Spencer and the team risk everything to stop him? Team-fiction.
1. Preface

**A/N:**I'm new to Criminal Minds - I've only been watching it for around a month and I'm pretty much caught up (and I also heard the news of a season 7 coming out soon and I really can't wait to see that). Out of all the characters in the series, I've always been more of a Hotch fan. And personally, I think there really should be more Hotch stories out there.

**Disclaimer:**I don't own anything.

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**In the Face of Evil**

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**Summary:**

Alternate takes on the Foyet episodes: They all knew that Foyet was evil and that he needed to be stopped at all cost. But when evil turns and corrupts their strong-willed leader, can Spencer and the team risk everything to stop him?

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**Preface**

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"Don't move."

The softly spoken words stopped him dead in his tracks. His first instincts were to turn, to twist his body so that he could see the man – because it certainly was a man, _the_ man – behind him. But he held on, frozen in place because there was a certain desperation to which those two words had been uttered.

For a few moments (which to him seemed a few eternities), there was silence – dead silence.

Then, the subtle sounds of movements from behind him – light footsteps approaching until the man was almost pressed up against him. Something (it felt like a gun) prodded his back. He tried not to flinch but he couldn't help himself.

_I'm __a __blinker._– He reminded himself calmly.

Of course he was.

Normal people blinked. More than half the world blinked. But he knew – _knew _someone who didn't. He bit his lip.

The light tap of the gun (he was absolutely positive it was a gun now) on his back made him jump up slightly. Then, the man leaned over him – he always seemed to loom over everything, even back then – so that his lips were near his right ear. "Relax, Spencer."

Spencer flinched again. "Don't call me that," he croaked out.

The man frowned – Spencer knew because he could feel it in his lips, the way it twisted down upon his ear. Suddenly, he leaned back. "Call you what?"

"Spencer. Don't call me that," he said almost automatically.

There was silence for a few seconds – Spencer was silently counting them (four seconds) before it was interrupted by soft laughter.

The laughter soon escalated.

Soft gone to hysterical, simple gone to mad.

The gun was removed from his back and it took all of Spencer to not flinch. However, nothing stopped (could _not_ stop) him from turning – he needed to see him.

He closed his eyes, held his breath (unknowingly) and _turned_.

In Spencer's imagination, he hadn't changed one bit – the man that led their team months ago. He was still just as tall, just as calm, just as intimidating, just as wildly dedicated – he was the same man that had everything to live for. His suit and tie (which Spencer and the team had come to know as his casual wear as well as work clothes) defined his work, defined the team, defined _him_.

And in Spencer's dreams, the world was _perfect_ – they still had their leader and they caught all the bad guys and there were no casualties, only happy endings with parents holding onto their children and families being reunited and the people that were sobbing were only doing it out of happiness – pure happiness.

In Spencer's head, everything was perfect, _normal_.

Everything made sense.

Everything was as it should be.

And if it were possible, Spencer would stay inside his head for hours, days – maybe even forever. Because there was something about reality (this reality) that made him afraid.

Because he was terrified with the very thought of opening his eyes. Because he was scared to death of what he might find right in front of him. Because he was mad at himself for not realizing earlier – way earlier, months earlier – that something had gone wrong and he hadn't picked up on it until it was too late.

Because their leader wasn't supposed to go missing for long periods of time and then suddenly show up out of the blue at Spencer's apartment and talk to him through a gun.

But Spencer knew he couldn't be stuck in his head forever – no matter how much he wanted to be. The team couldn't handle another loss and Spencer would never forgive himself if he ever ended up like his mother (mentally institutionalized by her own family with no hopes of getting out).

He opened his eyes – more from the fear that grew in the pits of his stomach than of determination to face whatever lay out before him – and the moment he did, he immediately wanted to close them again.

The man hadn't changed one bit.

His hair was still short and crisp and clean and black. His face hadn't aged one bit – he still held that seriousness in his eyes that Spencer wondered would ever go away. He was still fit and just as tall as Spencer remembered him to be. He still wore that suit – now Spencer was sure that the man owned no other wardrobe.

But there was something about him that still unnerved Spencer, that put him on edge, that made those warning bells in the back of his mind ring so loudly he was sure the entire room was filled with its sounds – that the man across from him could surely hear it just as he was sure he could also hear his heart thumping loudly inside his chest.

It took all of Spencer to let his hands lay limp on either side of him. It took all of Spencer not to bring them up his head so that he could try (in vain) to rub the pain away. It took all of Spencer not to move, to run – there was something utterly wrong with this man that Spencer couldn't seem to find and it was frustrating (completely frustrating) him to no end.

Then, there it was – as if to answer all of Spencer's desperate thoughts.

The soft cocking of the gun – the grim determination twisting the man's usually stoic features (and was that shame in his eyes or was it only Spencer's imagination?) – the tightness of his lips – the slight tremble in his extended arm.

"Forgive me, _Reid_. I don't want to do this. But I have to if I want to make things right again. Tell the team I'm sorry." There was a familiar softness to the words that Spencer wished he didn't recognize – it was the voice that was often used to console families, _victims_ of the case.

It was now being used on Spencer.

The man aimed at Spencer's shoulder and Spencer's immediate thought was:

_Injure, __not __kill__ – __he's __important __alive, __not __dead_.

He looked into the man's eyes. There was shame in them – shame for what he had to do and Spencer knew at once that their ex-leader was being forced to do this.

_Black-mailed._

"Foyet," Spencer found himself saying.

The man looked at him blankly – the determination was replaced by slight confusion, slight hesitation but the gun was still trained on him. Spencer wondered if he could at least delay him and find a way out before something (_it_) happened. "What are you talking about?"

Spencer knew he was playing dumb – he knew him too well to be fooled so easily but he decided it was a good idea to elaborate anyway if only because the longer they talked, the more of a chance he would have of getting the gun out of the man's hand.

"Foyet is making you do this."

The man stared at him. His face was stoic – something that Spencer oddly missed during the months of his absence. But then, after a moment of eerie silence, determination had set into place again.

The arm that shook with nervousness straightened and Spencer closed his eyes, knowing that his time was up even before the quiet words left the man's mouth.

"I really hope you can forgive me one day, Reid."

Then Spencer heard the shot.

And fell over, writhing under the sudden onslaught of pain that exploded inside his body. He didn't notice when the man walked around him to get to the phone; he didn't hear him as he dialed in a number and told of the situation and their location.

He didn't hear him as he announced he was leaving and walked out the door.

And no matter how much it felt like Spencer's insides were ripped to shreds, no matter how much Spencer felt like he was dying, his mind was busy elsewhere - too busy crumbling around those five horrible, _cruel _words.

The ones that made him want to rip out his own heart, the ones that made him feel so _completely_ and _utterly _vulnerable.

_Aaron Hotchner had betrayed them._

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**A/N:**Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter One: The Situation

**A/N:**I was planning on working on this story right away (which means also uploading it right away too) but then my family and I decided we wanted to spend some time at the beach. So that was what we did (for three days to be specific) and try as I might, I couldn't really write the chapter there - even when I had the laptop sitting in front of me part of the time. I ended up with two or three versions of the chapter and was still unsatisfied. But I think this one turned out okay. It's a little on the short side, however.

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Criminal Minds or the characters.

**Warning(s):** Grammar errors, typos, cursing throughout the story, OOC (if not in this chapter, then might happen later on - too which, I'll apologize in advanced), Hotch and Reid main characters.

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**In the Face of Evil**

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**Summary:**

Alternate takes on the Foyet episodes: They all knew that Foyet was evil and that he needed to be stopped at all cost. But when evil turns and corrupts their strong-willed leader, can Spencer and the team risk everything to stop him?

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**Chapter****1**** – **The Situation

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"Six months and four days."

Derek Morgan, whom had been half-heartedly engaged in a friendly debate with Emily Prentiss and David Rossi, peered over at the bed. His intense gaze fixed on the back of the owner. "I'm sorry?"

Spencer turned. "Six months and four days – that's how long he's been missing," he said again. He met the surprised faces of each profiler with a leveled stare. "And three months ago, exactly, was when he shot me."

Morgan shifted uncomfortably. The young man had said it so plainly, so matter-of-factly – it felt as if he were reading something out of a textbook. Morgan couldn't help but feel unnerved.

"Reid," he started slowly.

Spencer blinked. "Yes, Morgan. What is it?"

Morgan sighed. "You're getting enough sleep, right?"

"Of course. Why would you ask me that?" The stare was replaced by a look of bewilderment – Morgan suspected that the genius was only covering up for something (Maybe he was having nightmares again).

But he decided not to press the matter. He shrugged. "Nothing, kid. Nevermind."

"Right. Nothing. Of course," Spencer looked slightly relieved. He combed his hand through his hair.

Morgan raised a brow – maybe he should have pushed the matter. But before he could even open his mouth, Rossi and Prentiss seemed to have recovered and anticipated it. Their timing really was impeccable.

"Six months and four days, huh?" remarked Rossi – Spencer nodded in turn. "It really doesn't feel that long if you ask me."

"Something like this wouldn't," Prentiss muttered. "It's not like every day our boss decides to disappear on us and then later, thinks it's a good idea to shoot a member of the team." The sarcasm seemed to seep out of her every pore.

For a while no one said anything – content to let the depressing silence linger.

Spencer knew they were all thinking the same thing (or at least along the same line). It was Rossi that broke it with the inevitable question that was, no doubt, on everyone's minds. "What would push a person like Hotch to do something like that?"

Morgan furrowed his brow. "A person like Hotch – what do you mean? You're asking as if…" He sighed. "…as if we don't know him…like he's-,"

"-Like he's an unsub," Prentiss finished. She glanced around uneasily. Then she squinted at Spencer. "We don't even know for sure he actually…"

Spencer stared at her evenly, daring her to continue. Prentiss licked her lips nervously (when did her lips become so dry?) and pressed on. "Maybe it was Foyet – Can we really be certain it was Hotch, _Hotch _that shot Reid? After all, Reid had been having a hard time then – we all had. And it was late, Reid was tired. The light was dim. Surely…?" She gulped nervously, trailing off at last.

"I have an eidetic memory, Prentiss," Spencer said calmly. (Prentiss winced at his tone). "And yes, I was tired. Yes, it was late. Yes, it was dark. But I can recognize a voice. I can trust what I saw – it wasn't _that _dark and never once has my memory failed me – please believe me, _trust _me when I say that it was definitely Hotch."

He had said the words, slowly (deliberately slowly), as if talking to a baby. Prentiss had flinched by the time he finished his lecture and just as Spencer predicted (wanted), had also effectively shut her up. It was Morgan that spoke next.

He took a different approach. "But, kid – Spencer. It's been three months. You hardly talked about it."

Spencer snapped his attention to him. "Why would I have wanted to talk about something like this? I was still recovering." He pointedly looked down at his bandaged shoulder.

"Look, Reid. We know this isn't easy for you – hell, it's not even easy for us! It never will be. But we need you to recall everything about the incident. We need every last detail."

Spencer turned to Rossi – finally, someone in their right mind.

"Who do you think you're talking to here?" Spencer tapped his head lightly (and vaguely felt himself smile).

Rossi chuckled. "Right. Eidetic memory. Who can forget?"

Prentiss stared at the two. "Are you guys seriously exchanging banters here? Are we really profiling Hotch like he's some kind of unsub?" She couldn't believe this was taking place – surely this was all just a dream?

Rossi turned to her. He wore a tight grimace on his face. "Look, Emily, I know it's hard but we have to act professional."

"Professional? What the hell are you talking about, professional? This is Hotch, Rossi – our boss, in case you guys forgot," Prentiss snapped.

Rossi glared at her. "I know that. We haven't forgotten anything – how could we? How could I? He had been my friend far longer than he was your boss, don't you forget it. I don't want to believe any of this any more than you do but don't go making assumptions before hearing the kid's side of the story first." He glanced back at Spencer, whom had been sitting on the edge of the bed, tense. "We owe him that much, at least, don't we?"

Prentiss said nothing – she only bit her lip and nodded.

Morgan placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "We will find Hotch, Prentiss. You know that, right?"

"But dead or alive?" was Prentiss' bitter reply.

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**A/N:**Thank you for reading. Leave a review if you feel like it.


	3. Chapter Two: Professionalism

**A/N:**Here's the next update. As you will be able to see when you read this chapter, I'm not all that good with dialogue. When I make a character talk to another, I find it hard to write other characters in. It's like I forget the other characters are there too (But I don't forget them just so you guys know) and I apologize for that. I'm trying to work on it. Really.

And also, just so you guys know, I'm not good at the whole romantic slash stuff. I'm not good at romantic stuff period. There will not be romantic slash between Hotch and Reid.

This story is really just Hotch and Reid friendship. I hope you guys can understand. Sorry for any disappointment.

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Criminal Minds.

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**In the Face of Evil**

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**Summary:**

Alternate takes on the Foyet episodes: They all knew that Foyet was evil and that he needed to be stopped at all cost. But when evil turns and corrupts their strong-willed leader, can Spencer and the team risk everything to stop him?

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**Chapter****2**** – **Professionalism

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"Okay, kid. You sure – positive – that you're ready for this?"

Spencer glanced briefly at Morgan. He could see the concern in his eyes. There was only a moment of hesitation before he nodded – Morgan didn't miss it. "I'm positive." Then Spencer closed his eyes. "Let's begin." He let loose a shuddering breath.

Morgan leaned forward. He placed a gentle hand on the younger man's back. "Alright then. If you're completely sure…" Spencer knew he deliberately left the sentence unfinished.

"Morgan, whether I'm ready or not," he opened an eye to stare at the man as he spoke, "we have to do this. We – I – have no choice." He paused. Morgan didn't let go of him. "Thank you for your concern though," was added as an afterthought.

Morgan nodded. "Right. Kid. I just wanted to make sure. That's all."

They fell back into an awkward silence. Spencer coughed slightly. And as if just realizing, Morgan let his hand slide back into his lap. He shifted on the bed. "Sorry," he murmured.

Spencer shrugged. He closed his eye again.

He could hear the others in the back (Rossi was whispering something to Prentiss – most likely to reassure her about Hotch).

"So then, Reid," Morgan cleared his throat. "Take us back to that night."

Suddenly, Morgan was the replacement unit chief of the BAU again. The reverting back to the formal use of Spencer's last name instead of the nickname "kid" and the disturbing detachment in his voice indicated it. Spencer also noticed how the noise in the back of the room seemed to instantly disappear – Rossi and Prentiss had abruptly settled down.

Spencer was now in the spotlight. He gulped nervously.

"Reid, remember we're taking it slow." Morgan's voice pierced the heavy air. "You don't have to remember anything you don't want to – we'll take _any_detail you're willing to give." He was talking to Spencer like a victim now (Spencer had to remind himself he was a victim).

Spencer nodded. "I know that," he said softly. "I know that."

He couldn't stop himself from saying it a second time.

_Repetition – can mean a number of things; namely, to reassure others or oneself._

"It was cold," he blurted out suddenly. He felt a slight shift on the bed beside him – no doubt it was Morgan. He could imagine his brows rise at his sudden declaration. "It was cold out that night," he elaborated carefully. "I remembered shivering – my teeth chattering, my body shaking. I had just gotten back to my apartment from a long walk. Sometimes I do that, you know – walk, that is.

"We just got back from a bad case. It helped to clear my head." Spencer stopped suddenly. Then he smiled and Morgan wasn't sure what to make of it. It was a strange smile – one that held no warmth, that wouldn't have reached his eyes. It was chilling, disconcerting to see it upon Spencer's face. "I wonder if he knew that. I wonder if he waited all day."

"Reid," Morgan started.

But Spencer wasn't there. He was elsewhere. He was in his thoughts, swirling and mixing with them; remembering. He continued to speak as if he didn't hear Morgan (Perhaps he really didn't). "He was with _him _for three months," Spencer muttered. "He had three whole months to plan by then." There was slight bitterness, slight hurt in his voice now. Morgan wondered if they should call it off – call the whole thing off. Obviously, the kid wasn't ready.

But before Morgan could say anything, Rossi and Prentiss were moving to the bed, moving to them. "What happened after you came home, Reid?" Morgan stared at Rossi, as if he grew a second head. The other man ignored him. "Tell us what happened. Tell us what you did. Be strong, _kid_."

Spencer frowned. His eyes were still shut. "He was there," he said quietly. "He was there waiting for me. I closed the door and was making my way to my room but then…" He gulped down the bile trying to crawl up his throat. His hands started to shake on either side of him. But it was only a moment. Still, Morgan noticed it. "He stopped me before I could." Spencer licked his lips. "I remember freezing at the moment he said, 'Don't move.' It wasn't those words that made me stop – it was his voice; gentle, soft, slightly demanding."

Prentiss leaned over. She bit her lip. "That wasn't when he shot you, was it?"

He shook his head. A drop of sweat rolled off his chin. He didn't bother to wipe it. "No. It wasn't. We exchanged a few more words before he shot me."

Rossi looked back at Morgan and Prentiss. They were each concerned. "Can you remember what he said to you, Reid?"

Spencer almost laughed. "Of course I can remember. Let me tell you the whole conversation – it wasn't even that much. 'Relax, Spencer.' 'Don't call me that.' 'Call you what?' 'Spencer. Don't call me that.' 'Forgive me, Reid. I don't want to do this. But I have to if I want to make things right again. Tell the team I'm sorry.' 'Foyet.' 'What are you talking about?' 'Foyet is making you do this.' 'I really hope you can forgive me one day, Reid.' Then he shot me."

The team was quiet for a minute. Spencer waited patiently for the outbursts (that he knew) that would follow after the information sank in.

Prentiss was the first to break. "I didn't know you two were on first-name basis."

"I didn't either," Spencer responded. "To me, it felt unprofessional – which Hotch isn't."

Prentiss opened her mouth to reply but closed it again. She opted to stare at him instead. Spencer could feel her eyes. "What is it?"

"That's the first time I heard you say his name since your stay here." Spencer shrugged at that (He wondered why that was a big deal). "It may not mean much to you, Reid, but it tells us that you're recovering – even a little."

"I thought I already was," Spencer murmured. "I thought you guys knew that. I mean, it's not like I'm confined to the bed now."

She shook her head. "Physically, you're fine. But we were worried about you. We worried for your mental health."

"Because everyone thinks I'm going crazy," he bit out. ('Just like my mother', was implied).

Prentiss was taken aback. "You know that's not what I meant." She looked at Morgan and Rossi for backup. Desperation was plainly shown on her face.

"Let's get back to a more pressing topic," Rossi said gently. He looked at each of the profilers in the room. "What I want to know is why Hotch kept asking for forgiveness." Then, in a rare moment of imitating Spencer, he quickly relayed the more important parts of the conversation to them. "He said, 'Forgive me, Reid' and then said, 'I don't want to do this.' Don't want to do what? Shoot him? Go missing for months? Make a deal with Foyet? Turn criminal? What didn't he want to do?" He glanced at Morgan. "Don't you think the whole conversation was odd? And why go after Reid?"

Morgan glanced at Spencer. He thought for a moment – he never really given any of this much thought (because the whole situation was still a little too surreal for him). He wanted something to make sense – anything. But his mind was oddly blank. He sighed. "We don't even know too much about Hotch to be making a profile."

Prentiss rubbed her forehead. "Do you guys really think he would partner up with Foyet? Foyet of all people!" They heard the bewilderment in her voice – she didn't believe it. None of them really did.

Not even Spencer and he was there, he was the victim. On the outside, it seemed only Rossi was the one who could give this thing even a little bit of a chance. Spencer had to wonder if it was because the older man knew Hotch better than any of them or if he was secretly in denial and didn't want to admit to anything (Maybe the professionalism was just a cover-up).

"Come on, guys. We're profilers here – we have to act like one. We've got a victim, a crime and an unsub – possibly two. We also have a hidden motive. We just have to find it. Now, think." It was no surprise that Rossi was the only one unshaken, unfazed. Spencer could even see that he had his poker face on (one that reminded him a lot of Hotch's). "Just as I said earlier – why pick Reid? Why tell him sorry before doing the act? Why use his first name at the beginning of the conversation?"

It seemed so obvious when put like that. It seemed so plainly out in the open, as if trying to mock them for overlooking something vital, important.

Prentiss, Morgan and Spencer stared at him. They were still having trouble getting used to the unfazed David Rossi, the all professional David Rossi. Then suddenly, it was Prentiss that stumbled out of her stupor. Her voice trembling, she said, "Unsubs only use first names with their victims if it's personal."

"Is it though?" The professional Rossi was still calling the shots.

Prentiss suddenly jolted forward. The trembling in her voice stopped. "Of course it is," she snapped angrily. "He's our unit chief. We're his team. Everything would be personal to Hotch." She was in Rossi's face now. He calmly watched her. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Rossi stared her down. Prentiss wanted to back off. But she couldn't. Morgan bit his lip – he wanted to intervene but Spencer was holding him back (his grip on his suit was surprisingly strong).

"There's nothing wrong with me, Prentiss," he said at last. Prentiss only looked at him like he'd gone mad. "I'm trying to get this team under control – someone has to act professional, someone has to step up." He looked pointedly at Morgan (whom suddenly shifted uncomfortably). "We can't let emotions rule over us right now."

"And why can't we?" Prentiss shot back. "We've always been cold, detached to other cases because they were never about us. They were never so personal, so close. But this is! We have every right."

Rossi shook his head.

The others thought he was going to say something, rave into a lecture. But he didn't. He didn't say a thing.

He only leaned back against his chair and it was quiet – deathly quiet – for a few minutes. Then the door that they all (with the exception of Rossi) seemed to have forgotten, opened slowly. (The creaking made them jump).

And JJ walked right in.

Her face was pale, blonde hair in slight disarray – the team had never seen her like this. She walked with stiff legs, up to Rossi, himself. JJ placed a folder into his lap and leaned over, whispering something that caused Rossi to grimace. He nodded to her.

Then, the blonde-haired woman turned to face the rest of the team. "We found him. We have him with us right now," she said gently. She looked at Spencer dead in the eye.

Spencer blinked. "Who do you have?"

There was a pause – a brief pause.

"We have Jack now, Spencer."

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	4. Chapter Three: Revelation

**A/N:**This will (most likely) be the shortest chapter in the story. I wanted to start this chapter with part of Aaron's story and wasn't sure if I should finish it all up in one long chapter or spread it throughout the story. I chose the latter. So I hope you enjoy this - I know I didn't do much with the rest of the team but I wanted to get a bit of Aaron in here and there _will _be some Foyet in later on chapters (that's a promise).

**Disclaimers****and****warnings:**For more information, check the previous chapters and stories.

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**In the Face of Evil**

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**Summary:**

Alternate takes on the Foyet episodes: They all knew that Foyet was evil and that he needed to be stopped at all cost. But when evil turns and corrupts their strong-willed leader, can Spencer and the team risk everything to stop him?

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**Chapter****3**** – **Revelation

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"_Get __Jack __on __the __phone, __Haley.__Tell __him __to __get __on __the __phone."_

_He was growing desperate at that point – the plea was in his voice. "Please, get him on the phone." He knew he wouldn't make it on time. He knew he wouldn't be able to save her. But him – Jack. He had to try and save Jack._

_He heard Haley hand the phone to someone._

"_Hello, __daddy?" __The __timid __voice __was, __no __doubt, __his __son._

_Hotch sighed in relief. "Jack, I need you, okay? I need you to work the case with me."_

_There was no hesitation as the boy on the other end whispered, "Okay."_

_He gripped the phone tighter. "Thank God," he heard himself mutter. "Thank God."_

_Then the sounds of gunshots…_

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"Jack's in the SUV right now, waiting."

JJ was still staring at Spencer – as if the young profiler had any clue as to what she was talking about. Slowly, unsurely, he shook his head. "Why are you telling me this, JJ?" He gulped nervously.

JJ crossed her arms over her chest. "I just thought you might be interested to know, Reid." She continued to stare at him pointedly.

His face reddened – he felt as if he should know something but he didn't. "Why would _I_ be interested in knowing?"

JJ shook her head, "Maybe because he wants to talk to _you_."

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_He almost dropped the cell-phone._

"_Aaron. __Oh, __Aaron."_

_His hands tightened on the steering wheel. His teeth clenched and the mantra, 'Don't lose focus. Keep looking at the road. Foyet wants you to lose control – don't. Don't react,' kept playing itself over and over in his head._

_Foyet never stopped talking._

"_You __want __to __hear __her __scream, __Aaron?"_

_He swerved._

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She scurried off before he could say anything more, though Spencer wasn't sure what _else_ he could have said – his head was still trying to wrap around the fact that _they_ had Jack, that Jack wasn't missing anymore, that he was safe now, and then the fact that Jack may have gone through a traumatic experience during those months hit him square in the chest. Spencer sucked in a sharp breath. He started to fidget, letting the nervousness roll through him like waves crashing on a beach.

Seconds ticked by, soon merging into minutes – painfully long minutes that seemed to last eternities. Spencer tried to imagine Jack; a little boy with clean, blonde hair and a wide grin on his face – Hotchner's little boy.

JJ came back moments later, carrying Jack in her arms like he was a baby. When Spencer looked at him, he was sure his heart had stopped (completely) for a second before hammering, pounding in his ribcage. The picture of a smiling Jack in his mind immediately morphed itself into something wicked, evil…

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_Hotch knew he was too late. He wasn't sure how he knew; only that he just did – that somewhere, deep down, something was telling him he didn't make it. He wanted to turn tail and run now – something else told him it was a bad idea to be here. But Jack…_

_Jack, his little boy. Jack, his whole world. Jack, his reasoning. Jack, his promise. It was about Jack, all about him. So he entered – not too carefully, cautiously either but hurriedly, desperately. Because he could still hear the gun-fires, the cruel laughter, the broken sobs, the confused tone of his son as he was handed the phone and his own silent anguish as everything happened all at once, all too suddenly. _

_He looked around in the darkness, gun drawn out in front of him, hands wet with sweat. He had entered into the living room, leaping away from every shadow that presented itself – paranoia, he told himself silently, frowning. Then he stepped into the kitchen, heart pounding wildly._

_Knifes on his right, stove on his left – nothing moved, nothing touched. He cursed to himself. Had he been expecting something else – a missing knife – Foyet jumping from behind the counter – maybe even Jack lying on top of the table, gurgling as blood bubbled into his mouth, gasping for one last breath? Had Hotch finally lost his mind?_

_Maybe…_

_Perhaps…_

_Something creaked from behind him – Hotch turned around, eyes wide, mouth open in a gape. The gun in his hands shook and his grasp on the metal loosened. The words fell out before he could stop them, "No, no, no. Let him go. Let him go!"_

"_Why __don't __you __drop __the __gun __first, __Aaron? __There's __no __need __to __cause __an __accident __here, __right?"_

_It was his first mistake that night – the gun fell to the floor with a dull thud._


	5. Chapter Four: Memories

**Disclaimers****and****Warnings:**See previous chapters.

**In the Face of Evil**

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**Summary:**

Alternate takes on the Foyet episodes: They all knew that Foyet was evil and that he needed to be stopped at all cost. But when evil turns and corrupts their strong-willed leader, can Spencer and the team risk everything to stop him?

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**Chapter****4**** – **Memories

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_Hotchner wasn't himself these days. He still smiled at Jack but it never reached his eyes, never lit his face. Jack decided, whenever he looked at daddy, that he was looking at a jagged, ruined image of Hotchner's old self (good self) – that his daddy had gone away for a while and in his place was just the shadow, just the shell. _

_Hotchner's crooked smile – the smile that was half a grin and half something darker – stared down at him. He then reached down to playfully ruffle his hair, which Jack wished he did less of. "Be a good boy, Jack," Hotchner crooned (Jack secretly wondered if it was the other man making his daddy do these kinds of things). "Be a good boy and keep this a secret, okay?" Hotchner looked down at him oddly – Jack wished he could read his daddy's expressions these days. "You can keep a secret, can't you, Jack?"_

_Jack wanted to nod, wanted it all to be okay if he did but, God, he was so scared – so petrified with terror. Hotchner noticed, tried to soothe him. "Shush, it's going to be okay," he said it seriously, as if he believed it himself. "I'm your daddy, right?" When Jack nodded slowly, he continued confidently, "And daddies protect their sons, Jack." There was a slight pause after he said that, when he waited for Jack to say something and when he was done waiting (when Jack just sat still and looked at him blankly), his voice was quieter, less confident. "You do believe that, don't you?"_

_And Jack wished he did. He wished with all his heart he did. But the truth of the matter now…? He just wasn't so sure about anything anymore._

_Still, Hotchner didn't let go of him. That was something, wasn't it? "Everything will be okay." Jack wasn't sure if that had been directed at him or his daddy (because Jack didn't really believe that). "You just have to promise me to keep this between the two of us – you and me, okay, buddy?" Hotchner continued to stroke his hair gently._

_Jack looked down. He began to trace circles into the soft earth. "Keep what a secret, daddy?" He felt Hotchner stiffen, (the gentle fingers brushing away his hair previously had suddenly stopped) and looked back up to see the agony wash over his daddy's face._

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Jack kept his silence, even when he lumbered over to Spencer. JJ didn't look surprised when even Spencer couldn't seem to get one word out of him. She simply shrugged, then rubbed her eyes with a tired hand, "We couldn't get him to open up the whole time he was with us either. Honestly, the only time he seemed even slightly interested was when I happened to mention your name…so I figured it wouldn't hurt to give it a shot." She looked at the team with bloodshot eyes, exhaustion marking her features.

Spencer wasn't too surprised either – having taken just one look at him, he knew Jack wouldn't be helping the team anytime soon. "It's okay, JJ," he said softly. He brushed his hand lightly over Jack's hair.

Morgan peeled himself from the wall. He looked somewhat upset. "Alright, so if Jack – our one and only witness it seems – can't help us, where the heck does that leave us exactly?"

"Morgan," Prentiss' voice came from behind him, warning in her tone.

Morgan turned to her – the movement sudden and wild. "What is it, _Prentiss_?" he sneered. "Gonna tell me to calm down, right?" His voice raised a notch and Prentiss recognized the slight authority in it.

She stood up, making herself seem tall, unafraid. "Yes I am," she hissed. "You're acting like a _kid_ right now," putting emphasis on the 'kid'.

The man jerked back, offended. "I don't act like a kid."

"Yes you do," she said, her tone cold and precise.

"I'm not the only one then," he seethed.

Rossi sighed when Prentiss continued to bait him. "Behave you two," he said firmly. "If we can keep our heads together, we can figure this out. So stop with the fighting.

"Let's go over what we already know, okay?" he glanced over at the team; JJ by the doorway, Spencer holding tightly to Jack on the corner of the bed, Prentiss and Morgan glaring each other to death – his eyes lingered on them the longest, until they were able to tear away from each other. "We know Hotch disappeared the same day Foyet called him and that Jack disappeared with him," he paused, eyeing Jack – the boy seemed not to have heard. "We also know that after six months of silence, Reid becomes a target."

Rossi then turned to Spencer, a silent question at the tip of his tongue, prodding at him with an invisible finger. Spencer looked glumly down at his hands – what were they hoping for him to say? "You think I left something out, don't you?" The accusation burned through him like fire.

"You may have forgotten something," Rossi offered and Spencer immediately thought that was an absurd thing to say to someone with an eidetic memory. Rossi clamped his mouth shut after that, probably thinking the same when the words came out. He adjusted the tie he wore (and Spencer wondered when the man started to wear ties and suits) clumsily. "I meant to say you may have forgotten something else unrelated to the incident," he still fumbled over his words. "Can you remember another time you were with Hotch?"

Spencer tried to remember. His hand tightened around Jack's and suddenly he felt him start to squirm. He looked down, surprised. Jack was staring at him now, having lost interest in his shoes. "You're hurting me, Spencer."

And dear God, looking into those haunted brown eyes almost convinced him it was Hotchner (the father Hotchner) instead. He released him quickly, stumbling over his apologies at the same time. Jack didn't seem to notice though, once he was free. He looked back down at his shoes with mild curiosity and Spencer wondered if the boy saw his shoes or something else entirely different.

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"_We __have __to __go __back __now, __Jack."_

_Jack looked up. Hotchner helped him to his feet before he took hold of the child's hand. There was a brief moment when their eyes locked and Jack could see a gentleness in his father's face, where the lines creasing his forehead seemed less hardened, less like a mask of doubt and exhaustion and anger._

_It just made Jack even more hopeful. "Are we going back home, daddy?"_

_And then the creases on his face hardened and the gentleness seem to leave him and Jack already knew what he was going to say before he did…_

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"Wait. Guys! I do remember something," Spencer's words bounced out eagerly from his throat before he could stop himself.

The rest of the team seemed to perk up (having spent hours trying to get Jack to talk and seeing no results got to them pretty hard). Rossi straightened on the chair he had been slouching on, JJ looked at him expectantly (though Spencer could see that she was still dead tired), and Morgan and Prentiss quieted down and waited patiently from the wall they both leant on.

Spencer took in a deep breath. He looked down at his hands – how was he supposed to begin this?

Morgan seemed to have heard his thought. "Just start at the beginning, kid – everything will follow after and remember," his tone turned sharper, "don't tell us anything that you don't wanna – that'll cause you pain, got that?"

Spencer nodded, chuckling. "Well remember when we found out," light pause, "_Foyet's _plan on killing Hotch's wife in his own home – that day?"

He looked up slightly to see them nod, slowly and unsurely. Spencer took in another breath, letting it go after a moment. "We all heard the gunshots…two of them and Foyet…taunting him."

"Yeah," Morgan said slowly, "we know. We were there, Reid."

Spencer ignored the comment, "And when Hotch got there first and no one knew what happened when he was there – did Foyet escape? Did Haley really die-,"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa – hang on, kid. 'Did Haley really die?' What the heck are you talking about?"

"Wait, what? Haley didn't die? What the hell, Morgan?" Rossi seemed just as astounded as the other profiler.

Morgan put his hands up in defense. "I don't know, man – it's what the kid was saying!"

"Reid?" Spencer could hear the question in her voice. He looked up to see Prentiss looking at him expectantly.

He wished everyone would calm down and let him finish. It was in that moment when Jack decided to take interest in reality again; placing a small, warm hand over his as if to comfort him. Spencer sighed, rubbing his other hand over the back of his neck. "If you guys would let me continue…"

He haven't meant for his voice to rise, haven't meant for the words to sound sharp (like jagged-edged knives) but at least everyone quieted down, if only for a little bit.

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_Morgan had busted the door down that day, hoping they'd gotten there in time (for what though? To watch Hotchner beat the living hell out of a murderer? To watch Foyet get away with killing the unit chief of the BAU? Or was it to watch little boy Hotchner get stabbed repeatedly to death?). Immediately upon entering the house, Morgan knew something was wrong. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end, could feel the fear coursing through his veins seizing control over every bone and cell and flesh in his body. He heard the sharp intakes of breaths from behind him, knew that it was Rossi standing just inches from him taking in all the details and images trying to find something amiss._

_He knew Prentiss was right behind Rossi looking more than just lost as she tried to search the darkness, and Spencer right behind Prentiss trying to analyze every little molecule out of place. And he knew the moment they all stepped inside, pronouncing 'CLEAR' in every room that looked unoccupied; somehow they were all too late._

_And finally, after they checked and cleared every room the damn house had, having found no sign of Hotch or Foyet, Jack or even Haley…they went back to their SUVs, sitting against it, tired and completely defeated._

_Hours seemed to drag on once the team made it back to the BAU. Morgan let them go home early and everyone seemed more than happy with that decision. He was sure Rossi would be drinking all that night, hoping that with each glass, one would take him into oblivion. He was sure Prentiss would lock herself in her apartment, paranoia overtaking her as she sat on the chair in the dark with the gun on her lap, waiting and watching and listening to every little sound – fearing that something like what happened to Hotchner could happen to her. _

_He was sure that JJ would go home to her family – to Will and Henry – and lean in for comfort knowing that even Will wouldn't be able to provide her with the sort of protection and comfort she needed (after all, if something bad could happen to their ex-unit chief, anything could happen to them). He was also sure that once he provided all the details to Penelope Garcia, she wouldn't be the same again and dear God, he didn't want to do that. Couldn't he keep this a secret from her?_

_And Reid…Spencer…he'd go back to his apartment, maybe pick up a book and sink into the words, drown into the images - Morgan supposed it was better than Rossi's alcoholism, or Prentiss' paralyzing fear, even better than JJ's shaken body pressed up against a scared-looking Will…and it certainly beat imagining an unsmiling Garcia wrapping her arms around herself in a death hug._

_Well Spencer did go home. He took a cab there. He opened his apartment door. He walked inside. He turned on the lights. And there, sitting on his couch, drenched from head to toe, with dark red liquid running down the side of his tired (no, beyond exhausted) looking face was Aaron Hotchner himself._

_He looked up; taking in Spencer's dazed expression. "Hello, Spencer."_

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**A/N:**Okay, I've decided to put every author notes at the bottom. Now normally I never really plan out the story too much before typing some parts to it but with this story, I finally have most (maybe all) the notes to complete the story so therefore I will updating this more often. Hopefully it'll be completed soon. And for the last note, it'd be nice if you guys took the time to leave a review (it doesn't have to be long either) about what you thought – it's just kinda odd to have only one-third of alerts reviewing…

Thanks for reading guys!


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